


A Road Through Midwinter

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Era, Common Cold, Episode: s01e08 The Last Patrol, M/M, Sickfic, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: On the day they leave Haguenau, Dick comes down with a cold.





	A Road Through Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actonbell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actonbell/gifts).



> Thank you to kuns for beta reading and encouragement <3

Dick spent that last night in Haguenau standing on the river bank and calling very real covering fire on an entirely fake patrol. In the chaos of returning fire from the German side of the Moder, no one seemed to figure out that no men had actually left the safety of the American lines. Dick closed down the show around 0230, went to bed feeling guilty but righteous.

His head ached, and his throat felt raw, but honestly he felt like crap most nights, and he didn't think anything of it until he woke up the next morning with a cough. His throat rasped and burned every time he swallowed, and more so when he coughed, which he couldn't seem to stop doing. After half an hour awake, even his eyeballs had started to ache when he blinked.

"You okay?" Nix asked as Dick manoeuvred their jeep out of town.

The icy February wind bit into Dick's face, making his lips crack, and he moistened them before telling Nix that he was fine, and to get some shut eye if he could. The battalion was loading onto trains bound for Mourmelon, but the tracks were all blown to hell as far as thirty miles back from the river, so the whole thing had to go in stages. Seemed like nothing was very straight forward any more.

It started to rain twenty minutes out of Haguenau, and the convoy ground to a halt again, scattering across the road to tarp over the trucks and put the tops on the jeeps. Dick wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered hard, coughing roughly. He took a drink out of his canteen, but the cold water only cut into his throat.

Nix stirred and shifted in the back seat, having slept through the drive and stop, but coming to with Dick's try at hacking his lungs up. Dick glanced back guiltily. He should have let one of them rest. He ought leave Nix to sleep and get out to walk the line make sure everyone was managing okay. There probably wasn't a man out there that wasn't just as cold and miserable as Dick was, and it was his duty to try to buck them up. Dick cracked the driver's side door, but the blast of frigid rain that poured in made him slam it closed again.

"Jesus! Don't do that," Nix snapped, and his coat rustled against the seat as he burrowed into it. Dick glanced back, but could only see Nix's eyes between the top of his scarf and the brim of his helmet. "We'll be going just as soon if you bully them or not."

"I wasn't—" Dick started, but he didn't have the energy to take up one of Nix's fights. He slumped down in the driver's seat, trying to match Nix's cocoon. The jeep's canopy cut the wind some, but rain crept through the seams, and nothing was dry. Nothing had been dry for a month. Dick's hands were starting to stiffen up even through his gloves. He flexed them and rotated his wrists. 

"Want me to drive?" Nix asked.

Dick almost said no, he was fine, but another coughing fit doubled him over, and he had to keep his eyes shut until he was able to breathe again. He could just see himself driving them both off the road in this shape. "Yeah, all right," he said, and slid into the passenger seat while Nix squirmed into the front.

The seat was cold under Dick's ass, and he hunched in on himself a little more and tugged his scarf up around his ears. His head pounded, and he his throat felt like he'd swallowed broken glass. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball and pull warm blankets over himself. He fantasised about Nix crawling into the blankets with him, maybe wrapping himself around Dick and holding him close and warming him with his own body heat. Nix wouldn't say anything in that fantasy, he'd just hold Dick and let him rest.

"You look awful," Nix said, startling Dick out of his daydream.

"I'm okay," Dick said, straightening. "Think I caught Lip's cold, is all."

Nix leaned in to examine Dick's face, and Dick tried to flinch away, but there wasn't anywhere to go. "Lipton has pneumonia."

"It's not that bad," Dick insisted, but this time he stayed put when Nix pushed Dick's helmet back so that he could feel his forehead. Seemingly satisfied that Dick wasn't burning up before his very eyes, Nix grunted and slumped back into the driver's side. "See," Dick started to say, but another bout of coughing drowned the rest of it.

"For Christ's sake, Dick," Nix muttered, but neither of them could do anything about it, so Nix stayed on his side of the jeep, drinking pensively, and Dick huddled into the smallest ball he could and tried to sleep.

Every time Dick started to drift off, another bout of coughing would wake him up to a raw throat and a pounding head. When the convoy got going again, Nix settled the jeep into a place near the rear to catch most the the stragglers and the worst of the mud. Dick stared out the side window at the slushy brown snow patched across the fields alongside the road. If he half closed his eyes, he could be driving up to visit his grandparents in Lebanon County, maybe for Easter with the snow just melting. His grandmother would have made him chicken broth and tea so bitter it would take the skin off your tongue. It was good for him, she'd have said, and then would've winked and slipped a little sugar in. 

Dick coughed again, and wished he had something hot to drink. He could feel congestion building in his sinuses and knew he'd have trouble breathing soon. He was too wrung out to hold off the respiratory infection that had been running through the men like Spanish Influenza. Dick would just have to weather it, same as everyone else.

Like everyone else, having a cold wasn't an excuse to slack off on his duties. Dick blinked hard and took in the positions of the trucks and the other jeeps. It looked okay, but he should get Nix to pull up towards the front of the line, make sure everyone was coming along all right. Turning his head made his eyes burn, and when Dick saw Nix with both hands on the wheel, grimly manoeuvring the jeep through the sea of mud and potholes, Dick sunk back into his seat and didn't say anything.

* * *

Half the convoy got stuck in the mud, and two trucks broke axels, and that went without mentioning various flat tires and other delays. By the time the 506th hit the end of the rail line—another half-ruined French town—they were four hours late and Dick had sunk half way into the foot well, still not really sleeping.

"I should," he muttered, knowing there'd be a hundred logistical snarls piling up around the transfer of a battalion from trucks to trains. There was always someone who didn't get the word, know their role, was just too sick and tired to get the job done like it should be. Dick pushed the door of the jeep open, then blinked. Nix was already standing on the passenger side. He caught Dick's elbow and pulled him upright when the blood rushed out of Dick's head in a wave of dizziness.

"Come on," Nix said, and guided Dick away from the jeep.

The mud sucked at Dick's boots, making each step take the effort of three. He shook off Nix's arm and squared his shoulders, saluting Colonel Sink as they passed. He got lucky: his CO was too caught up in his own business to look at Dick longer than it took to return the salute. It stiffened his spine though, and Dick stopped in his tracks to get his bearings. Nix tugged at his arm again, but Dick wouldn't let himself be herded any more. He had to find Zielinski and the company commanders. He had to make sure none of the men had gotten lost on the road, wandered off, or otherwise been left behind.

"Speirs," Dick called out, seeing the back of his helmet up towards the front of the line. His voice cracked on the word, and he coughed and tried again, striding forward through the muck. It was all a question of momentum: once Dick got pointed in the right direction, his body moved out of habit, and he could push back how much everything hurt.

Dick caught up with Speirs, and then with the other two company captains, and then with the lieutenant in charge of HQ company, a replacement who seemed to have lost all his MGs somewhere on the road and was in a panic. Dick didn't really care where the guns had gone, so long as they had the gunners, but got the kid calmed down and an NCO with a decent head on his shoulders looking for the missing materiel. 

By then, the first train was pulling out of the make-shift station, carrying what was left of First Battalion and Dog Company from Second back towards safety. Most of the troopers were packed into in what were little better than cattle cars, each man huddling on piles of straw inside, leaning against his neighbour for warmth and protection against the draughts. They deserved better, Dick thought as the engine pulled away, jerking the clanking, shuddering cars behind it. All his men deserved better, but at least these ones were alive, and they'd suffered through so much that a day or so of inactivity, mostly out of the weather wouldn't kill them.

Dick thought of Private Jackson running into his own grenade on that pointless rush across the river. He'd been a Lancaster boy too, though Dick hadn't met him before Toccoa. Even so, he'd known the kid for three years, and Jackson had died on a mission that had come to no real gain for the Allied advance. Dick hadn't had time to write a letter yet, but would tell Mrs. Jackson that her son had died a hero serving his country, that it had meant something, that all the men had loved him. Dick had said that about the replacement lieutenant in D Company who'd stepped on a shoe mine on his first mission. He'd say it of Christ knew how many other boys before this was through.

"You done?" Nix was at his elbow again, and Dick coughed and shook himself free of his thoughts.

He'd been staring at the retreating train, but it was gone now, having vanished around a hedge row who knew how long ago. Another engine was pulling up, and Easy was making ready. What was left of Easy. Dick's eyes stung as he watched them push each other up into the cars, and he tried not to think of men loading into C-47s. They weren't jumping, not yet. "Yeah," Dick said. "Yeah, I'm done."

As far as he knew, HQ Company still hadn't found its MGs, but they'd either show up or they wouldn't.

"Want to ride out with Easy?" Nix asked, and Dick found himself nodding. He should take the final train out with Fox and HQ company, but he was too damn tired to resist Nix's hand on his elbow pulling him towards the rear car. It had metal steps on it and even seats—albeit of unpadded wood, meant for the lowest class rather than livestock. "Privileges of rank," Nix said on Dick's raised eyebrow.

"If I stay in long enough to make colonel, I'll get a seat cushion," Dick commented, but that wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything to earn a seat when his troopers were sitting on straw. He should make his way forward and sit with them. He started to but another bout of coughing doubled him over, and he had to brace himself on the back of an empty seat to keep from crumpling to the floor. When he looked up, the car was swimming and unsteady.

Nix spun Dick around and pushed him back towards the rear of the carriage. When they got to the middle, Nix stopped and started to strip out of his overcoat. Dick stared at him, trying to work out why Nix would do that in an unheated car, but it didn't come together in his head until Nix spread the coat out over the window seat and shoved Dick on top of it.

The car was starting to fill up with battalion staff officers and medical company people from division—another fragment, so many bits of what had been whole companies could no longer fill a whole train carriage—but no one gave the 506th's S3 manhandling their CO a second look. Dick let himself be shoved and pulled the edges of Nix's coat around him, imagining he could still feel residual body heat even through all of his own layers of wool. It was almost like curling up under a feather quilt with Nix, except that Nix wasn't sitting down next to Dick.

Dick shook his head hard and watched Nix disappear out of the train car again. He tried to protest but more coughing caught his words. Dick tugged at Nix's coat and let his head drop against the back of seat in front of him. It was marginally warmer than the window would be. Nix would have gone to find Sink, probably, or maybe a bar.

The train jolted, knocking Dick's forehead. He blinked and looked up, wondering if he'd lost time. The car was full now, except for the seat next to him, and the grey, snow-strewn countryside started to roll by. Someone shouted towards the front, and Dick squinted. The lieutenant with the missing MGs was laughing and leaning out the still open door, reaching down as someone raced alongside the accelerating train.

"Damn fool," Dick muttered, and started to push himself up. He flinched at the loss of warmth of Nix's coat. He pulled his own more tightly around him and started to make his way forward. Some idiot replacement was about to get themselves killed with this kind of horsing around, and if they didn't, they'd get a piece of their CO's mind.

"There you are, sir!" the lieutenant said, and pulled a flushed and panting Lewis Nixon onto the train. Dick stopped, staring, and Nix laughed at his expression.

"Just about had to catch the next one," Nix said. He clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder and pushed his way back towards Dick. The train hit a switch just as he got close, and Dick had to catch Nix's hands to keep them both upright. Nix wasn't wearing gloves again, and his fingers felt cold even though the lined-leather of Dick's own. "Whoops," he said, mouth inches from Dick's, breath smelling of whiskey. So it had been to find a bar after all.

"You're setting a hell of an example for the men," Dick muttered against Nix's ear, but was ignored. Not letting go of Dick's hands, Nix walked them both back to the seat, right foot forward as Dick's left foot went back—half way to a dance. Dick looked at Nix's flushed and shining face and found himself blushing in response. Or maybe that was flu getting to him. He somehow didn't manage to give Nix's coat back when Nix handed Dick off to the seats. It had lost its warmth in the few minutes Dick had been standing, but at least the carriage doors were closed now. The heat of so many men packed together would warm the air eventually. Already car smelled of wet wool, sweat and cigarettes. "You should be more careful," Dick said, trying to sound admonishing, but it was hard with his throat closing up and his best friend cheerfully ignoring him.

"Is that any way to talk to the man who brought you this?" Nix asked, and unclipped a thermos from his belt.

"Depends what this is."

"It's like you don't trust me," Nix complained, but not with any heat. He held the thermos between his thighs—his knee bumping against Dick's—and twisted the lid off with both hands. Dick leaned in, like he cared enough to look, which made their shoulders press against each other. It had started up a cold rain, and Nix's jacket was wet and his helmet dripping. Dick hadn't even noticed. "Hot soup," Nix said as he filled the cap and held it out for Dick.

"Oh." Dick took the cup in his gloved hands. It smelled like onions and beef—real beef, not just reconstituted bouillon—not that Dick would have cared at this point. "Where in the world did you find this?"

"Division," Nix said. "If you see any MPs, hide it under your coat. They'll never suspect you."

"All right." The cup was only half full, to keep it from splashing out as the train bounced forward, and was cooling quickly, so Dick tipped it back and let the warmth spread through him. He finished it in two swallows, and was holding the cup out for more when it occurred to him to ask, "You want any?"

"Nope." Nix jammed the thermos back between his legs and held up his hip flask. "I got other ways of keeping warm."

Dick just shook his head and drank up. He could hardly taste the soup he was drinking it so fast, but it felt so good he could cry. Wrapped in two layers of coats, with Nix's shoulder solid against his and something hot to eat, Dick felt warm for the first time in months.

He coughed again, muffling his face against his sleeve, and Nix patted his back.

"You're going to get sick too," Dick said. His nose was starting to run, and he had to fish for a handkerchief. "You should go sit with Harry."

"No point," Nix said and put his arm around Dick's shoulder, pulling him closer. "I was doomed from the start."

"Yeah, me too," Dick said, softly enough that even Nix couldn't hear him. He rested his head on Nix's shoulder and fell asleep.


End file.
